Day 41

Tide had barely thought about what he had gained from the assassins. He had been busy. No, that wasn't fair. He was always busy, yet he still made time for these things. He just hadn't wanted to think about it. However, he had put it off for three days, so he might as well.

Some of the augmentations the assassins possessed were genetic in nature. Thus, infecting them had granted him access to those augmentations. However, even if he'd used every one of them, he still wouldn't have been able to match any of the assassins in their skills, as the augmentations they had gone under were not wholly genetic. Mechanical augments, chemical infusions, such things were more difficult to copy. He'd probably have to ask a few tech-priests to work on them in order to really learn anything of value from those.

The assassins were like masterpieces of art. Their augmentations weren't random, but carefully selected to merge and fuse with the other augments, all to enhance their skills in their chosen craft. He'd have almost been impressed if he hadn't been so disgusted. Many of their bones had been replaced with mechanical components, but the flesh and organs that covered those replacements were almost certainly the flesh that it always had been. They had been cut open, splayed out like an autopsy, in order to facilitate the surgery. He knew that for certain because their memories of that even were clear in their minds. They'd all been awake the entire time, not even given anesthetic.

Still, there were some things he could use. Their skills and experience, at least for the Callidus and Vindicare, would let him fight at range and in melee with far more skill and fluidity. He'd have to ask the Tech-Priests to design future Spartan armors with that in mind, as the Mk.0 had proven itself sluggish at that speed.

There were other things as well, of course. While the general information the assassins carried was likely out of date and woefully incomplete, information was not all they carried. An Exitus Rifle and matching pistol, a pair of lightning claws, and, perhaps most interesting of all, a C'tan Hyperphase Sword. Such weapons were some of the best in the Imperium barring unique artifacts and their other equipment was just as advanced.

Of course, assassins were not fond of allowing their equipment to be stolen, let alone reverse engineered. Every artifact, even the Hyperphase Sword, had booby traps within them, some simplistic, others ingenious. He might have been able to get around the ones he knew about through the memories of the assassins, but their equipment was also some of the most finely wrought artifice of the Adeptus Mechanicus, at least in the case of the claws, rifle, and pistol.

Rather than an objection to taking apart such artistic devices, his main concern were the traps that the assassins hadn't been told about. The Mechanicus was very fond of their secrets. Even the ones who worked directly with Tide kept secrets from each other, despite being aware he knew all of them. It wasn't explicitly because they distrusted one another, though that might have played a part in it, so much as it was simply culturally ingrained in them.

Still, the assassin gene augments had, at least, proven their usefulness. His search and rescue for more survivors in Dolus had continued, aided by their sharp perceptions, even if he had not found anyone alive for two days now. His current count was sitting at seventy-three. Where before his Flood forms could use their innate sense for nearby life to aid in their hunt, now…

He had other things to occupy him as well. After the strike against the two remaining traitor hives by the warship, the destruction of Dolus, along with the treachery of their own master, both Eris and Ate had offered surrender in exchange for amnesty. They didn't say that, of course. Rather than calling it amnesty, the Chaos cultists that remained, the bulk of which were loyal to Slaanesh, offered up the heads of their highest-ranking pawns as sacrifices. The messages framed it as the leadership's noble sacrifice for the purification of their people, ironically something that might make them into martyrs. While they were supposedly messages sent from the governors themselves, Tide had no doubt the authors of the requests were the Chaos cults still running rampant within their hives.

Selvik, riding high since 'his' complete victory over the genestealers, had been willing to accept that offer. So long as the ones in power, at least on the face of it, were expunged, he could care less if a few culprits slipped through his fingers. He was unaware of the nature of his opponents and believed this had been a normal uprising.

Tide was under no such illusions. Selvik could command all he liked from his palace in Deimos, none of his communications would ever reach the enemy hives or anyone else who might inform him of what was taking place there. Manipulating vox-casts on such a scale might have been difficult once, but as he was now, it was simple for Tide to cut the head of the planet off from the body of his government. Selvik and his court, all blissfully unaware that not a single one of his orders sent to other hives had been carried out or even truly received by anyone but Tide, celebrated their victory while Tide continued the war, this time without interference.

He was still going through the motions, he supposed. Keeping his mask of humanity on by operating through puppets. Even if the Astartes were no longer in control, the cultists that were still belonged to Chaos. Granted, he didn't bother to use trains this time, instead opting for speed to prevent anything like Dolus happening again, transporting millions of troops into the tunnels leading into both hive cities via Neural Physics transit. To further ensure speed, he'd also sent a sizable amount directly into the hives themselves. It took some trial and error to end up with a few pods that didn't reemerge into solid rockrete or half-fused with machinery, but the ones that followed were easier with the scouts to guide him.

He would start with Eris, with the forces he sent to Ate mostly meant to contain them until he could turn more attention to the more heavily defended of the two hives. Between that, and his maintaining of defensive forces in every friendly or captured hive, even his immense numbers were being stretched. It wasn't so much that he lacked biomass as that he lacked the industrial means to produce enough uniforms and autoguns for them to wield quickly enough, even if he supplemented his forces with the gear already produced by other hives. Many of the factories in the three empty hives were still being reconfigured to begin producing what he desired, so Malum and the other hives that had had Flood spores spread throughout them by puppets and tech-priests remained the source of much of his material. Once he had finished there, as well as configured those various factories within the myriad fused vessels of the Space Hulk that remained intact, his immediate production concerns would be met and he'd have plenty of capacity left over for his other projects.

Still, it was enough for now. Ate was proving slightly more difficult to take, but both hives would fall soon enough at the current rate. Janus seemed to have been where the bulk of their more Chaotic forces were. He captured those he could. Many surrendered willingly, in part thanks to his use of psychological warfare and propaganda, proclaiming that the hives had been abandoned by the God-Emperor and that only through reconciliation could they be redeemed and some such nonsense. The Star Road had been quite busy transporting captured prisoners, on top of its scouting efforts and search and rescue in Dolus.

All three of the traitor hives' citizens had varying degrees of corruption within them, whether they were a member of the cults or not. Even those who were civilians with only brief contact with Chaotic forces possessed some level of corruption, often times from Slaanesh but rarely from one or several of the other three Chaos Gods. Fortunately, none of it was anywhere close to the extent of someone like Kalak.

For now, they would reside along with the assassins and other sleeping souls within his Domain. Once he had figured out a means to remove the corruption from their souls and their hives were reclaimed and purged of any physical corruption he could find, they could return home.

There was always something else to occupy him, Tide noted with a morose feeling. Always more enemies, always more problems. He supposed this was what those higher-ups in the Imperium must have felt when they saw how surrounded they were on all sides. He had certain advantages, of course, but… The issues remained, even if lessened.

For the moment, his focus was reaching and dealing with the survivors of the Chaos vessel. However, to do that, he needed to let Vidriov, Sathar, and the rest of the tech-priests bicker with one another until they decided on the best way to modify the scout armors. It would take days, maybe weeks if they kept disagreeing on designs, features, and other things.

At the very least, he doubted that the fallen ship would ever fly again, so he wasn't afraid of it disappearing while he wasn't looking, even if he did routinely check up on it with the Star Road for any changes. His fears were less of an attack by the ship itself and more by Sorcerers who were backed into a corner and likely desperate. Such people made foolish contracts with worse entities and if they opened a large enough Warp Rift, even the Freezing Wastes might not be sufficient to stem the flow of daemons into the Materium.

Securing the ship and its survivors was the priority. Whether he would invade it with additional ground forces after finding the Astartes and determining their status or just throw enough explosives at it until there was nothing left would have to wait until that time.


Vidriov had not often had the opportunity to work on power armor to his heart's content before meeting Tide. In those rare occasions where the Inquisitor had required his services to maintain her gear, he had only been permitted to do just that: maintain. Never improve upon.

In terms of the works the Omnissiah had granted to humanity, Power Armor was likely among the most beautiful and majestic. Only the chance to work upon or, Machine God grant him, design something like a battleship or one of the mighty god-engines of the Legio Titanicus.

Vidriov's borrowed spider-like form was crouched low over the Sororitas Power Armor, laid with its power pack facing the ceiling, almost appearing as though a dissection were being performed or some kind of surgery as certain compartments of its power pack were opened up to allow his biodendrites access. Around him, several tech-priests had taken on smaller forms that were more easily used to watch his work, occasionally offering suggestions.

Not far away enough, Sathar's mass of writhing worms performed similar work upon another set of armor, though his armor was far less intact. Where Vidriov treated the armor with the respect such finely wrought artifice deserved, Sathar seemed content to all but destroy the armor, disassembling or shifting around its power cords. Other tech-priests in similar forms to the ones that hung around Vidriov also watched the Logis work.

They had tried to come to a consensus on what would be the best way to modify the armor to ensure survivability in the Wastes. While certain ideas, such as thickening the ballistic weave worn under the armor with heat-capturing materials were obvious, others were not so simple to agree upon.

"The additional reactor will be dedicated towards the improved heating system," Vidriov explained to his audience, speaking through a special membrane that permitted easy transmission of binaric even though it was organic. That said, his explanation wasn't really for them. Whether they were aware of this or not, those that had necks nodded in agreement. "Additional energy, when not dedicated to the heating, will go towards its other systems. And, even if one reactor is damaged, the other will be able to ensure the suit is still operational. Provided, of course, that the suit does not explode from such damage or by overheating. Fortunately, we have cooling systems for that."

A few of the worm-bodies that made up Sathar's form pricked up at that final comment, a few others seeming to writhe in displeasure. Vidriov watched as one of the worms began to change, becoming bulkier and stubbier than the others as it took on an appearance similar to a fleshy vox-caster.

"By removing the coolant of the existing reactor and adding a means that allows the heat to flow more easily throughout the suit of armor, we will ensure the armor remains well-heated without any loss in bulk from adding heavy machinery," Sathar spoke aloud in binaric, this time to their own audience. Like Vidriov's, they nodded along amicably. "Tide did mention that he was concerned with the… slowness of the prototype Faux-Mjolnir."

Vidriov all but scoffed, yet kept his attention on the suit in front of him.

"The added reactor will, of course, increase the weight. However, a heavier weight will fare better in resisting the powerful winds in the Wastes," Vidriov continued, struggling to keep his indignation from entering his tone. "Thus, what would be a negative elsewhere is, in fact, a boon here. Lighter suits of armor would not likely survive for long and I intend to further increase this suit's defensive power."

"Without the bulk of an additional reactor or heavy armor, we may instead rely upon this suit to carry additional tools into the Wastes, such as auspex scanners and other devices that will be highly valuable for a scout," Sathar announced, their voice having barely a hint of annoyance, a feat in and of itself given they were speaking binaric. "Furthermore, things like grappling hooks and climbing tools to embed in the ground will allow for the armor to remain fastened in the face of windstorms. As will its more aerodynamic design."

"A design likely to explode the moment it comes online…" Vidriov muttered and it was just loud enough to reach the Logis' finely-tuned senses. Dragging himself back to the suit, he tried to focus on it. "The additional armor will, obviously, be accompanied by additional servo strength to further enhance the carrying capacity of the suit. Strong enough to easily lift any… other suits out of areas they may have gotten stuck in."

"Any bodies of water in the Wastes will be frozen down for hundreds of feet! The excess heat will not melt the ice enough for it to sink!" Sathar called out, clearly displeased at Vidriov's return to that particular issue, before returning to their work. "Of course, going through the Wastes on foot will be far easier without trudging through snow. The excess heat will melt through that easily enough."

"You'll make your own body of water to sink in then." Vidriov gave the binaric equivalent of a laugh.

"And you'll wind up with a short-circuited mess that can't handle its own power," Sathar bit back. At some point, both of them had risen from their disparate suits of armor and turned to face one another. The other tech-priests cleared away, seemingly having other tasks to handle or their own ideas to test.

If either of their forms had possessed an even remotely human-looking face, they would have glared at one another. However, Tide refused both their requests to add such a thing to their forms.

The Chosen of the Omnissiah's reasons, and which of their ideas he preferred, were kept to himself.


"The sorcerer, Ahsael, failed in his efforts," intoned a voice that held only a trace of its mechanical origins, deep and rich. "The entity continues to spread unhindered. A possible problem for us."

There was a pause, a moment of silent data transfer along ancient, hidden pathways.

"You may discount it, but it has shown an ability for rapid growth that is unmatched, along with other abilities that make it a concern," The voice continued. "If even the gods are blind to what occurs on Monstrum-."

The chamber shook with the anger of a rupturing power core and the owner of the voice bowed low, rustling their black robes.

"Forgive me. If even the gods are distracted with the Great Rift's opening, the entity could spread to the point where it threatens our goals."

There was another pause, a longer one, along with the clanking of old factorum lines, like laughter.

"The Ghoul Stars may be filled with all manner of such strange phenomena, but this one is uniquely positioned to threaten us," The voice insisted. "We share a cradle, after all. More than that, it possesses armies of strange monsters with unknown capabilities."

A whisper of energy running through power cords and other conduits less real, an indication of what was to come as much as it was a question.

"If you wish for this world to fall in line with our plans and fulfill your bargain, I believe that will be needed, yes," The voice affirmed. There was a rumble of displeasure at the mentioning of the deal. "The price increases even now, but rampant slaughter will not reap sufficient souls to pay. Only an organized war and systematic reduction of the populous will accomplish that."

Annoyance, as much as frustration, rippled with the flashing of the lights, revealing decrepit factories, debris filled corridors, and torn apart war machines.

"Four hives is a loss, but there are still souls aplenty on Monstrum," The voice stated. "In truth, if we move soon, we will only need less than a single hive at minimum to accomplish our side of the deal."

There was a pause and the voice chuckled, receiving the static of choked scrapcode blaring through voxcasters with good humor.

"Yes, I know, 'at minimum' has never really described you," The voice said, before sobering from its joke. "Eris will fall quickly without a proper hand to guide it and seems to be taking the brunt of the enemy's attack at the moment. Rather than wasting effort on them, Ate and its master, Janiel, should be swifter and give us access to plenty of sacrifices. Of course, we must bear gifts if we are to distract them from the knives we carry."

Stealth fields of ancient make and ingenious design flickered into existence, masking the flood of energy that filled the old chambers of the broken ship. In the depths of the vessel, a keening, mechanical whine, like the scream of a tortured soul, could be heard as factories twisted to darker purpose came to life. The creatures captured within them cried out with displeasure at their confinement, even as they reveled in the strange experiences that state granted. Scrap metal and scavenged components were gathered, salvaged, and melted down to be forged into new forms with terrible creatures to guide them. Strange power began to flow through the air, gathering around the monstrosities being rapidly assembled.

"Now, how shall I approach our new puppet?" The voice asked, both to themself and to their invisible master. "Ah, yes, of course. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, or so it is said."


Ahsael's tread was heavy, but swift. In his hands were his staff. It was practically a miracle that the relatively delicate instrument had survived the crash. It was an even bigger miracle that any of the mortals had.

Flanking him on either side was Uirus and Ahsael's Rubric Marine, both with bolt guns in hand. A few plates of Uirus' armor had broken and fallen partly away, while one of his helmet's lenses had cracked badly enough that it had to be removed. Ahsael's own gear sported several hairline fractures, in spite of his use of sorcery to protect himself and his nearest subordinates during the crash. In comparison, the Rubric's armor had survived relatively intact, another bit of silver lining since if the remains of the warrior within, enchanted dust, had begun to leak out they wouldn't have the proper means to repair the damage.

'Silver linings'. Yes, that was all Ahsael could look forwards to now. Just where had it all gone wrong? He had come to this world in pursuit of power, yet he was even weaker now than when he'd first arrived.

Further behind the Astartes were around a dozen mortals garbed in tattered cultist robes, those who had survived the crash either by chance or fate. They clutched weapons and heat sticks between rags of cloth, in shaking hands or coiled tendrils or grasping claws. Despite the warmth, they still shivered.

In spite of their efforts to fully seal the interior of the Gallow's Eye, even the deepest sections of the ship refused to remain airtight after their landing. Ahsael wasn't sure if he'd have preferred landing in the Barren Lands to the Wastes. Melting or freezing, neither was very appealing.

At the moment, his concern was freezing. His armor provided greater protection than any heat stick, but even he could feel the chill in the air, as if it were seeping through the plating. Icy hands reaching out to trail across his flesh and scrape against his bones.

It was an unnatural cold, something more than just the result of wind chill and lack of sunlight, but Ahsael had yet to determine the source of it. There was little knowledge of this half of Monstrum, even in the extensive libraries of the various hive governors he had turned. There was little point in exploring a wasteland with nothing of value.

Or was there? Ahsael could not help who he was and in the face of such a strange phenomenon, his mind naturally began to wander and wonder. The cold could act as some kind of defensive measure. If there was nothing but death, few would be inclined towards exploration. But what could be hidden out here?

There was little point in any of it, Ahsael knew. He had lost. Even if he somehow escaped the Wastes, how could he deal with an enemy that could simply teleport monsters the size of frigates out of nowhere? No, there was no point in trying to find an operational shuttle or anything else. Ahsael had only one route available to him.

The path to power. Yet, his efforts were stymied.

Ahsael needed a sealed environment to work the proper spells, to prevent any disturbances from disrupting the ritual components. The wind was strange, passing down the corridors like a twisting serpent. Ahsael would follow it to its source and almost always find an opening, some new gap in their defenses. While his armor provided a modicum of protection against the chill, it was only effective for a time. So, rather than risk himself, he sent the Rubric, who felt nothing before the cold.

But there was only one Rubric Marine and his mortal servants could not survive long enough to seal most of the breaches, even if they expended their lives to do so. Case and point, the reason for their current outing: Half-a-dozen of the fools had yet to report back after being gone for nearly ten hours. There were any number of possible reasons for their failure. They could be dead or trapped.

Personally, he would prefer if they were simply trapped or lost. He had so few servants now and he would have need of as many souls as possible for the ritual to ensure its success.

They'd holed up near the reactor core, where several of the more technically inclined among the survivors were hard at work fashioning a siphon that would safely provide them warmth. Or rupture the power core, but Ahsael wasn't in a position where he could avoid risks.

Ahsael continued on down the corridor. His armor's systems noted the dropping temperature as they passed through door after door, making sure to close each one behind them to conserve as much heat as possible.

Eventually, the temperature began to drop low enough that the mortals, even with their heat sticks, would be in danger. However, Ahsael realized after double-checking his helmet's layout of the wreck which he'd updated regularly, they should have been able to go several sections further than they already had. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"You are certain they went this way?" Ahsael asked, turning his head to give a sidelong glance at the nearest mortal, one of the bridge crew. The man nodded fervently, keeping his eyes on the slightly off-balanced ground even as he, and all the rest of the mortals, struggled to breathe in enough of the icy air to ease the pain of their lungs from having to keep up with a trio of Space Marines. They'd been fortunate enough to land with the right side up, but there was still plenty enough debris to make walking a hazard, further increasing the difficulty for them.

"Ye-yes, my lord," The man stated, rubbing at his nose. Ahsael's face twisted in disgust at the sight of snot leaking from the mortal. All of his remaining servants were either wounded in some manner or had begun to grow sick from the cold.

Ignoring the unwellness of his servant, Ahsael turned back to the final door.

"Head back. Uirus, with me," Ahsael ordered. The mortals, silently grateful, hurried back the way they came. They seemed disinclined towards sticking around when he opened this door. Uirus stood stalwart by his side, as silent and still as the Rubric was.

The door in question was not powered, but had been forced shut through the strength of several men. In the same way, it was now opened, Ahsael prying it open with ease, the thick metal scraping loudly across the plating that covered the floor of the ship. He only opened it enough to allow them each to slip through, though that was still wide enough that two mortals could have walked almost shoulder-to-shoulder through it.

Once they were through, Uirus being the last to come was also the one to close the door once more. Ahsael noted a drastic decrease to the temperature, despite his map claiming this area was far more temperate. They were close to a breach where there should have been none. What had those fools done?

It was not long before they found the first body and it made Ahsael halt in surprise the moment he laid eyes on it.

The cultist was frozen solid. No, not just frozen, he had been transformed into solid ice. His helmet's auspexes told him this was no corpse, but just frozen water in the shape of a man. Yet the detail of its creation was too precise, too human. Even the tentacles of the man's left arm had been changed, like a masterwork sculpture with a twisted artist, reaching out towards the doors that would lead deeper into the warmth of the craft.

The only imperfection was on the back, where the heart would have been. A puncture wound like a blade had been driven into it, too clean to have been made after the transformation, with blood splattered about the wound, as frozen as the body itself, giving it an odd, crystalline look.

"What… happened to him?" Uirus asked, fascination in his voice.

"Some manner of petrification?" Ahsael suggested, kneeling down to get a closer look at the corpse. "There are certain kinds of Warp-craft that could accomplish this, or something like it in any case."

"You think one of the other cultists accomplished this?"

"Perhaps," Ahsael said, rising. "This one was running from something when it happened, I think. Which means others may be further down."

Uirus nodded and they continued on, finding each door to be slightly ajar. Again, it was not long before they encountered yet more bodies, just as Ahsael expected. Both had his own puncture wound, also to the heart, though this time it was on his chest. Like the first, both of these two were solid ice and were in various states of obvious distress, but the second caught Ahsael's interest.

One of the mortal's blessings from Tzeentch was flames that wreathed half of his face. Ahsael knew this because the flames had also changed, impossibly, into ice. Several of the flames hung from nothing, the ice hovering there in defiance of physics.

"All three have had their hearts targeted," Uirus noted. "Is that a requirement of the ritual? Or simply an indicator of the skill of the attacker?"

"I detect no Warp-craft that would allow these flames to remain hovering," Ahsael stated, eyes narrowing. "Is this the Malum entity's work?"

"I do not think even that creature could follow us into these Wastes," Uirus said, though even he sounded unsure. "The monster it threw after us perished swiftly."

"Yes," Ahsael nodded, recalling the way the massive bioform had frozen over. "Quite swiftly."

"You think whatever happened to these cultists happened to it as well?" Uirus asked.

"Perhaps. Let us find the rest of our wayward servants."

They continued on, weapons held at the ready just in case. They were nearing the breach when they finally found the three remaining cultists, and these three were the oddest of all.

Like the previous bodies, they had been transformed into ice, with stab wounds through their hearts and crystal-like blood splattering their fronts. Yet, where the others were clearly in distress when their transformation had occurred, these three were calmly kneeling in the center of the corridor, as if in prayer. Were they the cause of the freezing or had they accepted their fates?

There were no clear mutations on this one, though Ahsael noted all three were slightly more gaunt then the others had been, like they'd been starved. That was not an impossibility, rations were limited even before the crash.

Only around a dozen meters away from them, there was a hole in the bulkhead, revealing the white, speckled-black blanket of sky that was the Freezing Wastes. Snow had already begun to build up within the corridor, blanketing the kneeling forms of the ice cultists. Had the cultists blown a hole in the bulkhead in some suicidal ritual sacrifice?

No, Ahsael realized with a flare of alarm. The bulkhead's metal had been torn asunder, not blown apart. Pried open with massive strength… from the outside.

"Withdraw," Ahsael ordered, and they turned and swiftly made their way back towards the reactor. It was only at the first body they'd discovered that they stopped. Ahsael considered the frozen corpse, wondering if they should bring back one for study. However, when he looked at it more closely, he realized something.

The body's right hand was stretched out, reaching towards where the reactor core would have been. Yet, Ahsael was certain that it had been the tendrils, not the hand, which were reaching out.

"Give me your khopesh," Ahsael commanded and Uirus handed it over, clearly confused. With a flourish, the blade arced downward, passing through the neck of the ice sculpture with surprising swiftness, the head falling to the ground and shattering. At the same moment, the rest of the body shattered as well, only the strange pattern of blood remaining the same. Curiosity and suspicion driving him, Ahsael reached down and gently pulled the crystal blood away, finding it surprisingly remained intact. According to the auspexes in his helmet, it was only blood, yet to Warp-sight it seemed… different somehow.

Wordlessly handing the khopesh back to Uirus, Ahsael studied the strange thing in his hand all the way back.